After last call, the bar crowd thinned and eventually disappeared. Duncan cashed out, tipped his sister, and poured drinks for the waitstaff and Eddie and Hector, who were waiting around for the meeting to begin. Eddie filled Adrienne in on the story circulating about JZ and Jamie: Jamie had found out from a Realtor friend on the island that the house JZ rented on Liberty Street went for three thousand dollars a week. In furious revenge, Jamie had bought a hot tub from Sears. Meanwhile, the director of Shaughnessy’s summer camp called threatening to send Shaughnessy home because her tuition had yet to be paid. JZ was, in Eddie’s words, “wickedly screwed” because Fiona had paid for the house on Liberty Street but JZ didn’t want to admit that to Jamie, and Jamie had spent Shaughnessy’s camp money on the hot tub. JZ had gone home to straighten out the mess and in the end, Fiona had paid the summer camp.
“Because she’s cool like that,” Eddie said. “She’s the coolest.”
Adrienne checked her watch. It was twenty of two. Her feet hurt. “Okay, people, let’s go,” she said. “Beach outside Thatcher’s office.”
They exited through the dining room and walked around the restaurant to the back door of the office. There they found Thatcher and Fiona eating Popsicles at a plastic resin picnic table. Fiona was wearing jean shorts and her chef’s jacket. Her hair was down-it was lovely and wavy released from its braid-but her face looked drawn.
Adrienne and the rest of the staff plopped down in the sand and Thatcher called for the remaining kitchen staff-Antonio, Henry, Paco, Jojo. When everyone was seated in the sand, he did a strange thing. He lifted Fiona up out of her chair and carried her toward the water.
“Follow me,” he said.
The staff followed, including Adrienne, who couldn’t help feeling stupidly jealous that Thatcher was carrying Fiona. Fiona screamed in protest, her head thrown back, her hair streaming in the breeze. It was a beautiful night, moonless, still. The staff trudged to the water’s edge but Thatcher plunged right in until he was up past his knees. He let Fiona go and she splashed into the water and the water lit up around her like a force field.
“Whoa-ho,” said Paco. (Adrienne knew he and Louis had been smoking dope back in pastry.) “That’s cool.”
Delilah was the next one in because she was young and unabashed about swimming in her clothes. She dove under, and again, the water illuminated around her.
Soon the whole staff, including Adrienne, was in the ocean, marveling at the way the water sparkled and glowed around their arms and legs.
“Phosphorescence,” Adrienne heard Thatcher say. In the dark, she couldn’t tell which body was his. “I didn’t want any of you to miss it.”
Thatcher had called this a morale booster, but Adrienne’s heart was aching, for reasons unknown. She put her head under and opened her eyes as she waved her hands to light up the water around her. For weeks, she had been so happy she felt like her life was phosphorescent, like the space she moved about in glowed and sparkled around her. But now, this minute, that notion seemed silly and wrong. You’re not like the other people who work here. You’re not like them at all. The Parrishes were right, though Adrienne didn’t know how she was different or why that bothered her. Her eyes stung from the salt water. She wanted to be swimming next to Thatcher, and what she really wanted was for it to be her and Thatcher out here alone. Just the two of them, floating in the sea of light. But Thatcher had brought them all out here for Fiona’s sake. Fiona came first, and she should come first. She was a good person, better than anyone knew, paying for Shaughnessy’s camp, tolerating JZ’s manipulative wife. She was good. And she was sick.
The staff horsed around. Adrienne saw Duncan and Caren kissing. Paco grabbed Adrienne’s ankle and tried to tip her over but she squirmed from his grip and dove under, feeling the material of her red T-shirt dress swirling around her. There was something about being underwater that made her feel lonely, even amid a group of people. When she surfaced, it was quiet, and Adrienne checked to see who was nearby. A man she didn’t recognize was treading water next to her, and Adrienne became confused until she realized it was Bruno without his glasses. Bruno pointed at the shore and then Adrienne heard some of the Subiacos murmuring in Spanish.
A man stood on the beach, silhouetted by the light of the office. He just stood there at first, hands on his hips, menacing. Police? Adrienne thought. JZ? Drew Amman-Keller? But then, very slowly, the figure started to sway and the swaying became dancing. The figure was dancing in the sand and the Subiacos laughed and catcalled and Adrienne heard Fiona shout, “Get in here, Romeo!”
He came running toward the water, and Adrienne caught a glimpse of his face before he dove into the light.
Mario.
10
Dr. Don
TTO: Ade12177@hotmail.com
FROM: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com
DATE: July 24, 2005, 9:01 A.M.
SUBJECT: To Hell You Ride
The spores you didn’t send me worked! I have officially Met a Man. Thirty-six, divorced, two kids. Sounds like my worst nightmare except I am falling, head over heels. Even worse, he is a landscape painter-but his work sells-some people pay more for his paintings than I paid for my last car. So although my mother is crying out about No Steady Income, he does just fine. In the winters he goes to Telluride and paints there and skis, and he’s asked me to go with him. And I, in turn, will ask you (because I miss you, but also because I think you’d like it). Do you want to join us?
TO: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com
FROM: Ade12177@hotmail.com
DATE: July 24, 2005, 11:22 A.M.
SUBJECT: It’s July!
Since when do you plan more than one day in advance? You must be in love! I hate to admit it but I am not far from that pitiable state myself-this thing with Thatcher is getting serious. Tomorrow he will meet the other man in my life-that’s right, the good doctor. I’ll let you know how it goes. As for this winter, I can’t bear to think about it, but I’ll keep Telluride in mind.
TO: Ade12177@hotmail.com
FROM: DrDon@toothache.com
DATE: July 24, 2005, 11:37 A.M.
SUBJECT: A quick (don’t) pick-me-up
We fly in tomorrow-US Air flight 307, BWI to Philadelphia, US Air flight 5990 Philly to Nantucket arriving around three. We’ll take a cab from the airport to the Beach Club and we’ll meet you at the restaurant at six o’clock sharp. You’ll eat with us? And what about this Thatcher person? Can’t wait to see you, honey. Love, love, love.
TO: DrDon@toothache.com
FROM: Ade12177@hotmail.com
DATE: July 24, 2005, 11:40 A.M.
SUBJECT: Breakfast and lunch
Dad, I will not be able to have dinner with you. I have to work dinner-get it? As does Thatcher. So reorganize your expectations to include breakfast and lunch. Those are the meals for which I am available. Breakfast and lunch.
You guys are going to love the Beach Club. It’s the best. Please tip generously as they know you’re my father! Love.
“I shouldn’t have invited them,” Adrienne said to Caren on the morning of her father and Mavis’s arrival. She and Caren were at the kitchen table, which, now that the weather was consistently nice, they had moved out into the backyard. They drank tea and espresso in the sun together on mornings like this one-when Duncan went sailing with Holt Millman and Thatcher left for the restaurant to give Fiona extra help. “No one else’s parents come to visit.”